


Mechanical Failure

by CC_Writes



Series: RvB Angst War [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Additional characters in the background, Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Open Ending, RvB Angst War, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes/pseuds/CC_Writes
Summary: For the RvB Angst War.Prompt from Primtheamazing:It’s starting to get very, very hard to maintain Simmons’ cybernetics. He’s constantly on the verge of breaking down, glitching out in multiple inconvenient and often painful ways. Most of Grif/Red Team’s time and efforts are spent on trying to get him parts and repairing him, but it feels like a losing battle.Originally part of a multi-chapter now reposted to its own fic!





	Mechanical Failure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/gifts).



> You guys aren't crazy if you think you saw this before, this was originally posted in a multi-chapter fic but I've decided to repost it to make it easier to find and organize! If you posted a comment on the original chapter then it was deleted, I'm sorry. :( (I did read them all though if you don't want to re-comment here so no worries!) Hope you enjoy whether it's your first time reading or not!
> 
> Warnings for:  
> Slow death, suffering of a major character, minor/severe descriptions of what decaying bodies smell like, body horror (maybe?)

 

 

Simmons was dying.

  
Grif knew that even before Sarge told them.

 

  
It had actually started with a taste.

 

Grif was never a fan of mornings, or rather being made to get up during them, more specifically; getting up during them when he wasn't ready to get up. Since getting together with Simmons, however, he'd been making more exceptions, because getting up when Simmons got up meant morning kisses, and morning kisses often lead to morning messing around. So you see how that might be a nice trade-off.

So that's what he'd been doing, kissing Simmons, just ramping up to something a little more hot and heavy than chaste passes of lips and adventurous hands, and that's when it happened. It wasn't Simmons who'd done anything, no, it was Grif. He didn't mean to, honestly, he didn't. One minute he had his tongue in Simmons' mouth, the next he'd shoved his boyfriend away, a "Yuck!" popping out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Simmons went red, of course, his expression torn between self-conscious fear and rising anger, "Yuck? What the hell! What's that supposed to mean!?"

Grif tried to cover up his own embarrassment, "Nothing! Christ!" he felt his own face heat up, "Don't get your panties in a twist, morning breath happens to everyone."

Simmons spluttered, "Morning breath!?"

"Yeah, I mean, its kind of rank dude." Grif kept going, digging his grave even deeper, "Did Donut badger you into trying his cooking again? Oh lord, did he get Caboose in on it too? I know his heart is in the right place but you know _I_ don't even count that as food right?"

Simmons had shoved himself up and off of Grif, feathers thoroughly ruffled, temper riled up into a good snit, grumbled something about brushing his teeth and somehow managed to slam the automatic sliding door on the way out.

  
Grif hadn't seen him again until lunchtime.

  
Simmons started taking long showers after that. He got up even earlier, somehow sneaking away without waking Grif up. In true stubborn Grif fashion the heavy man pretended it didn't bother him, but...

He kept thinking, maybe he'd gone too far? Had one comment like that really been enough to start Simmons off on some kind of a weird ass, obsessive, cleanliness thing?

Who was he kidding, clearly the answer was yes. But, when it came to just the two if them Simmons had always taken what he'd said in stride, usually he'd snap back with a jibe of his own, even when one of them had probably, definitely, gone too far.

When Grif had finally asked him about it, cause it was kind of weird you know, Simmons had gotten all flustered, embarrassed, panicky, and after a stupidly long time of pulling teeth had admitted that he was itchy. Blamed it on the pollen, weird alien moon, weird alien pollen, bad allergies. Grif supposed that made sense and let it drop, he had seen Simmons scratching a lot more, mostly where his scars and metal parts connected, so...

  
Then came the incident in the 'mess hall'.

  
Like with a lot of things involving Simmons the Reds and Blues didn't notice right away. Not because they didn't care mind because they did, even if it would be harder to admit for some. No, they didn't notice because Simmons never said anything; never said he didn't feel well, never said something didn't feel right. To be fair, maybe he didn't know either?

Maybe it was just as much a surprise to Simmons as anyone else when, during lunch, mid-sentence, he'd suddenly gone even paler than normal, and thrown up all over the floor, a kind of thick, black, tarry, substance.

It's something that haunted Grif now because it should have really been more of a wake-up call. At least a slap in the face kind of clue, because the longer he thought back on it the more he wondered about what other signs he'd missed. Had Simmons been more tired lately? Had he been skipping out on drills? On jogs with Carolina? Games with Caboose? Shooting practice with Locus? Had he been spending more time with relaxing with Grif because he'd finally decided to chill? Or? ...

But that was neither here nor there.

Sarge had taken the frazzled redhead to the med bay, or workshop, or wherever, and thirty minutes later Grif got a com saying Simmons was being prepped for surgery but not to worry.

Two hours and a week of recovery later, Simmons was right as rain, sporting a new espha... Esophagi... Spaghetti? Whatever, a new tube connecting his mouth to his stomach.

Just some wear and tear, Sarge had said almost jovially, not a big deal, the new part was stronger, would last longer. So everything was fine.

  
But it wasn't.

  
Grif had known. He had. He'd tuned it out and shoved it back, convincing himself it was nothing when deep down he knew it wasn't. It was easy to pretend, at least for a month or two.

  
One day Grif had been roused, early in the morning, by yelling. Specifically, Carolina yelling, _specifically_ , specifically, yelling for Sarge. What Grif pieced together after all of it was over, was that she and Simmons had been doing their morning jogging thing, he'd kept falling behind and she noticed he was breathing weird. No sooner had she stopped and turned to ask if he was alright, then Simmons had fallen to his knees, breath coming in, in sharp short wheezes. One trembling hand barely keeping him upright, the other pawing at his throat and chest as though something was restricting his breathing.

Grif could say he'd honestly been terrified. Seeing Simmons just slung over Carolina's back like he weighed nothing, arms limp and unable to hang on, deathly pale, eyes unfocused and nearly closed, breathing short and labored.

He'd just stood there, unable to do anything, not even knowing where or how to start.

Sarge had, of course, come running and in a flurry of activity, they'd disappeared, leaving Grif standing in the hall, feeling for the first time, completely useless.

An uncomfortably long time went by, then Carolina had popped once more into his field of view. She carried a data pad with her and had motioned for him to follow, which he had, not knowing what else to do. She'd taken him to round up all the others, once assembled they were all given the low down, or at least Grif thought they had, he couldn't really make himself stay focused on what Carolina was saying. All he remembered was Donut chattering something about a 'scavenger hunt' and a pad being shoved in his hands. It contained a list of items, some things he knew, other things he could only guess at, highlighted, he assumed, a cording to their level of importance.

Somehow after a bit of scrounging, they found what they were looking for and after several long hours, Simmons was laying, fast asleep, in their bed, breathing normal, as though nothing had happened. The only indication, the familiar Y-shaped scar on his chest, replaced with new stitches.

Just some parts that needed replacing, Sarge had assured once again, just frightening in its symptoms, no big deal. Simmons best not scare them again, he'd added, and the redhead had given a tired thumbs up in reply.

But that was hardly it because Grif had known. He'd known even before that.

Because things like this were sinister with how slow and subtle they were. Big events, spaced apart may worry but are easy to ignore. Small, subtle, things gradually growing worse? Even easier.

  
The bigger events had come and gone and Grif had just accepted them, let them happen, and forgot to be worried.

 

Then came the smell.

 

How long it had been there was up for debate, Grif had a high tolerance for a lot of things he probably shouldn't, and was well known for his own skirting around taking regular showers. So it was a bit of a testament to how bad it was that he finally noticed. Made him feel sick now.

It was kind of by accident, like with most things he did. He'd woken up earlier than normal, heart sinking when Simmons still being there was not the reason for it. No, the cyborg had been absent.

Grif sighed, rolling over to bury his face in his boyfriend's side of the pillow, trying to quell his unease with the comfort of a familiar scent.

The Hawaiian jerked upright and away from the normally beloved piece of bedding. The fuck? What the hell was that?!

Staring in confusion, Grif picked the pillow up, moving it about in his hands, trying to find some visible evidence, some indication of where the sudden, repulsive, smell had come from. Something spilled? Some stain missed? … A forgotten snack that had let him down and gone bad...?

No, the pillow looked the same as always...

Cautiously, he'd brought it closer, sniffing lightly at the surface, maybe he'd imagined it? He didn't smell any-

“Ugh..” he mumbled under his breath, pulling a face. There it was, faint but there, far side of the pillow. It was... Smelled like... Shoot he felt like he should know this... Like there was something familiar about it but in an unpleasant way. It just wasn't strong enough to identify.

It was... sour? Sort of... Sharp? No. Musty...? Not exactly... A bit like... Sweet meat? But not in a good way?

Still, there was something familiar about it, not fond though, **definitely** not fond, he couldn't place it though... Where had he smelled it before? Why did it make him feel so unsettled?

The feeling was so bad that he'd gotten up instead of going back to sleep like he normally would, throwing on some clothes, he went to look for Simmons. He actually did find him shockingly enough, the redhead was in the kitchen with just about everyone else, getting a cup of coffee.

Unfortunately, par the course, Grif hadn't actually thought of anything to say on his short journey there so when a surprised Simmons had looked at his deeply worried expression in confused expectation he'd just kind of blanked for a moment.

“The pillow?” he just sort of blurted, not sure how to phrase, whatever it was he was trying to ask, something was wrong about that smell, something was bad, he just couldn't connect the worry to anything.

“What about it?” Simmons asked, and when Grif didn't reply for several awkward moments of silence, he began to shuffle around him, trying to make for the table, “Umm... Okay... Well when you can elaborate on that thought, why don't you sit down and let me know?”

As he passed by, Grif caught just the slightest hint of the smell, he probably wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been hyper-focusing on in, “Wait!” he exclaimed, a sickening feeling twisting in his stomach, like his body knew something he didn't, and he grabbed Simmons' mechanical arm to stop him.

What would normally happen would be that Simmons would be jerked to a stop and maybe stumble a bit, and that was what happened, but... the limb didn't... hold, it _gave_ just a bit... but enough.

Grif didn't have to strain to find the smell because it was suddenly overwhelming, rushing to fill the small room, thick and grotesque in the air. His eyes grew wide as he finally made the connection, the horror of his realization simultaneously muting his surroundings as well as dragging them into overly sharp clarity. Tucker and Donut's simultaneous exclamations of disgust, the way Locus's head snapped around to stare at them, normally stony expression now one of complete disbelief, the way Washington stood up so quickly the table rattled and his chair went tumbling across the floor, the way Carolina took a sudden sharp and (for her) fearful breath just behind him, the crack of her coffee cup shattering on the floor, Simmons wide terrified eyes locked onto the slowly growing, dark, wet, patch, making it's way down his shoulder, soaking his shirt.

He knew. Grif knew what it was...

 

_He'd tried, he really had, to bury them all, it was the least he could do for them. But it was slow work and in the end, he couldn't do it. It had rained for two days straight and then it had been mercilessly hot, the perfect conditions to turn what had once been a thriving base into a pit of, bloated, festering, **rotting** , bio-matter._

 

That's what it was... That was the smell, like sickeningly sweet meat, too sharp, too thick, stuck to your clothes, got in your nose and your mouth, and Simmons...

Someone went to get Sarge, probably Donut, Grif was pretty sure he heard him shrieking down the hall, Tucker was busy sort of half holding up Wash as he lost his meager breakfast in the trash, Carolina seemed frozen to the spot, and Locus was barring a confused Caboose from entering the kitchen. It was all a dazed blur, and the whole time Grif could only stand there, holding the cold metal of Simmons' hand, just staring at him with disbelief, eyes locked with his boyfriend's watery terrified ones, as the redhead stammered out little-choked apologies, like that could somehow undo everything and make it right again.

  
Simmons was dying.

  
Grif knew that even before Sarge told them. Mechanical failures, small and subtle, not enough to be noticed, but had all compounded together and getting worse and worse, to the point that the organic parts couldn't handle the strain, the lack of everything from proper blood and oxygen circulation to nutrients not being fully processed, and so the tissue around where the artificial met the original had begun to die, and decay. It would all have to be removed and the parts all replaced or repaired.

The mad dash began after that, a scramble to take stock of everything they had, what could be salvaged and re-purposed, what could serve temporarily until parts were found.

  
There was a very heated argument between Sarge and Carolina (of all people) something which Grif honestly wished he'd been a part of, because he sure as hell had some comments, but he had the much more important job of making sure Simmons didn't hear it. It ended with a very loud, very final, **bang** , and Carolina's 'business' voice, ordering Sarge to call Dr. Gray.

 

The doctor arrived less than a day later and shooed Grif out of the room so she could examine Simmons. How he was doing was up for debate really. He hadn't been awake much and when it was it was usually to awkwardly ask for more painkillers or a bucket to throw up in.

Her face was uncharacteristically grim when she finally came out. Things were complicated, she said, Simmons wasn't strong enough to move to Chorus, which while it had better facilities, didn't have the kind of equipment needed to even try to repair something as absurd as Simmons. Earth might, but that was even more out of the question.

Launching into something that was part lecture part interrogation, she dragged Sarge off, something about unethical experimentation, and male ego, and how he should have called her immediately.

 

The days after that blended together, the mad dash to do something, anything to save the cyborg, a scramble to take stock of everything they had, what could be salvaged and re-purposed, what could serve temporarily until parts were found.

At first it seemed like they could do it, but instead, it became a constant battle, as soon as one problem was repaired another sprang up somewhere else. It seemed that almost every day, if Simmons wasn't laying in bed connected to a bunch of beeping machines, then he was being operated on. But, they all just kept telling themselves, if they could just find the right pieces, just get him only a little better they could move him to Chorus, if they could then he could get even better and then they could maybe get him to Earth, and if they could then he could get help, real help, the right equipment, the right parts. He would be okay...

  
Simmons, shockingly enough, didn't complain. Well, he did, but not about his condition. He'd bitch about the bed not being comfortable, about it being too hot or too cold, Donut's _disturbing_ bedside manner, but never about himself. The days he didn't complain at all were the worst.

Grif did his best to keep things as normal as possible. He was by Simmons' bedside every day, every night. He only left to get food or use the bathroom. That's what you did right? When people got sick? You sat by their bed and just kind of kept them company?

He tried not to let it bother him. To be honest, it was hard seeing Simmons like this... He was always so pale and thin but now... Now his skin looked like paper, just kind of pulled over what parts of him were still human, the dark circles under his eyes looked black.

So he sat there, day and night, talking, even when Simmons didn't answer, trying to nap when Simmons couldn't stay awake anymore. Trying to push away the part of him that just wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else.

  
Grif was shaken awake, surprisingly enough, by Carolina, “Hey,” she said softly, so as not to wake up Simmons, “Come with me. I need your help.”

Reluctantly Grif followed, trying not to think about how glad he was for something to do. They walked for a good few minutes before he finally spoke up, “So um...” he cleared his throat when the words got stuck, “What did you need me for?”

“Nothing.” Carolina confessed, “I just thought you could use a break.” she cut his outraged protest off with a hand, “Don't. I know how hard this is for you. You haven't left that bed since he got in it. You need to take a break too you know, It's going to make you sick.”

“He's sicker.” Grif groused, looking at his feet, hating her at that moment, hating that she was right, “I'm a pretty shitty person,” he added, “But I'm not going to make him lay there by himself. I can't do that.”

“Grif-”

“No!” he shouted, feeling his voice crack, hold on his emotions slip just a bit, “I can't! I can't leave him there. Who's he going to talk to? Donut? Is _Tucker_ going to take his mind off things?”

Carolina didn't answer for a moment, then much to his surprise, she took a bold step forward and caught him in an awkward but firm hug.

“I'm sorry.” she said quietly, not letting him go, even when he struggled against her hold, “I can't imagine what it feels like. All the people I lost, I wasn't there to lose them. I wasn't there for them when they needed me, or they wouldn't let me be there.” one of her hands rubbed gently at his back, “I'm probably not the right person to say this, but it's okay to be mad. It's okay not to want to be there, to see him. It really is okay.”

Grif sagged against her, shoulders shaking, “It's not...” his voice cracked as tears rolled down his face, vanishing into her shirt, “It- There's no way that's okay. How could I do that? Leave him by himself? He doesn't get to just 'forget about it' when it's too much. He's sick all the time! How could I tell him I don't want to be there?” his breath hitched, “How could I say I _hate_ it!? I hate seeing him that way, I hate being there, I hate the chair, the machines, the _smell_.” his voice broke off in a sob, “I hate that smell... I... I know what that is, that's a corpse. That's a dead person Carolina! I can't stand it! Why are we doing this to him? Making him stay that way? Stuck in bed while his body is fucking _rotting_!? Sometimes I wish-” he cut himself off, not daring to say that horrible, unforgivable, wish out loud, breaking down into sobs instead.

“I'm sorry...” he became aware of Carolina speaking an unknown time later, “I really am so sorry Grif...” He didn't want to look up from where his face was buried in her shoulder, he knew what he'd see, could hear it in her voice, he didn't want to see her broken too, “This is my fault.”

“It's not.”

“Maybe not directly, but I'm still responsible,” the former Freelancer countered firmly, “So much of that equipment was from the project, they just dumped it on sim troupers, hoping one would need it, or someone like Sarge would want to try them out, someone like Simmons wouldn't say no... Or someone like you would get hurt and give them no choice. Just to see what would happen. And I never stopped any of it.”

Grif stiffened, so, she did know then. Who had told her, he wondered? Probably Donut... Or maybe Sarge, feeling guilty?

“You couldn't have stopped him.” Grif managed, “We all got fucked over by that asshole. He's dead now, there's no one to punish.” that was a bit cold, considering who ' _he_ ' was, had been, to her, but it was better than letting her shoulder that blame like she seemed to want to. He hurt enough already, he didn't need more guilt on top, “Punishing yourself isn't going to fix Simmons. It's not going to save him.”

“That's true.” Carolina replied, something more resolute in her voice, “But, there is something I can do.”

Grif finally dared to lift his head and she let him go. He stared at her, face just as stock and stony as normal, the soft light from the night sky outside catching the slight dampness still clinging to her cheeks, the only indication that she hadn't been so pulled together just moments ago.

“What are you gonna do?” he finally asked.

“I'm going to Earth,” She said, “I'm taking Locus. Wash won't like it, don't tell him.”

Grif nodded in surprise.

“The people who worked on Project Freelancer, anyone left when they were exposed, was arrested, tried, and sentenced. Even the scientists and doctors who made most of those parts that are inside of Simmons. I'm going to go get them.”

“Are- wait, I don't understand. You're going to, do what?”

“I'm going to get them Grif.” Carolina stated with all the matter-of-fact tone of a person who was planning to write a sternly worded letter, “Whether they like it or not. Willingly or kicking and screaming, I don't care. Locus will help me, no one has to die, it's just in and out, he can do an extraction, I'm sure.”

“You-you'd do that?” Grif asked in disbelief.

“In a heartbeat.” was the reply, and he felt his eyes well up again, “I'm going to bring them back and I will make them help him. I will _make_ them make him better. I swear.”

“I, I believe you.” his voice wobbled.

“Good.” Carolina said, “I'm leaving in less than an hour.” Her hand gripped his shoulder reassuringly, “You keep him going until them okay? No matter what you don't let him give up.” she didn't even stumble when Grif hugged her, willingly this time, “And you take care of yourself too. When you go to eat or shower or whatever, take a walk, get yourself back in the right place. You know he'll be able to tell if you're not okay, he'll blame himself. Think of it like that if it helps.”

“Okay.” Grif agreed, “Okay. I will.”

  
True to what she'd said, neither Carolina or Locus could be found the following morning. Not even Washington could figure out where they'd gone. Grif never said a word.

 

The days didn't get any better, but the rhythm of taking a break became a bit easier, and Dr. Gray's makeshift parts seemed to be holding up. Well enough that one day much to Grif's surprise, Simmons asked to go outside.

It was... almost normal.

Simmons wasn't as talkative as he had been but he actually seemed to be enjoying the conversation they'd struck up. Asking about the goings on he'd missed, lamenting at the disorder and disorganization that must have taken over, laughing at his descriptions of the Blue's antics as they went out on self-proclaimed missions to get things for Sarge and Gray.

“It's basically a glorified delivery service but the way Tucker goes on about it you'd think he was some kind of super soldier going on a top-secret mission or some shit. God, you should hear him fucking talk it up!”

Simmons smiled tiredly, “I bet he's fucking insufferable...”

“Oh my god, yes.” Grif groaned and, looking at the time, he sighed, “I think I need to go get lunch. Carolina made me promise.”

“You should.” Simmons said softly, “It's weird if you don't, throws me off.”

Grif carefully touched his face, “Do you want me to help you back inside?”

“No, I think I actually want to sit out here a little more.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. The sun feels good.”

Grif looked unsure, “Okay, then I'll go eat and come back fast as I can. You've got your com right? You'll call if you need anything? If anything happens?”

Simmons playfully batted his hand, “Yes. Anything at all happens, I will call, you, Sarge, and Dr. Gray. Okay? If I so much as sneeze.”

Still not sure but trying to trust Simmons, Grif reluctantly agreed and went to eat.

He may have hurried a bit regardless, he tried to take time like Carolina had told him, like Simmons wanted him to, but he couldn't help it...

  
Grif was almost there, about to round the corner when he heard something. He stopped, just shy of turning the corner and listened. It was Simmons, talking to someone? He seemed upset... He didn't mean to, but something about it made Grif stay still and eavesdrop.

“-can you do that for me?” Simmons shaky voice floated to his ears, “I know it's probably stupid. I don't want to get his hopes up, so don't tell him. Just... Make sure he gets them?”

“Bien, si eso es lo que realmente quieres.” (Alright, if that's what you really want.)

Lopez?

“Fuck I hope that's a 'yes'...” Simmons' voice cracked, he was crying now, “I'm being such a bother to everyone... I can't ever... _fuck_ -”

Grif dared to peek around the corner and there they were, just a few feet away, out on the deck; Simmons, still sitting where Grif had left him, face in his hands, Lopez, just kind of standing there looking at him passively.

“I don't know how much time I have.” Simmons said, so quietly Grif almost didn't hear it, “I'm not gonna- I can feel it... I'm not...” he took a shaking breath, “Can you just... Just make sure he gets them? You don't have to do anything else. Just that. Please?” He pleaded.

To Grif's surprise, Lopez reached out and set a hand on top of Simmons' head with a surprising amount of care, to his further surprise, Simmons cried harder, gasping out a “Thank you.”

Grif didn't even look up when Lopez walked past him, though the robot did stop and look at him for a long moment, probably trying to figure out how much he had heard, before, he supposed, deciding it didn't matter, and continuing on.

Simmons offered him a weak smile when he finally went out to join him, “Sorry.” he said when Grif looked at him, worry clear on his face, “I just, started up and couldn't stop. I'm just a mess. A real pain in the ass huh?”

Grif didn't say anything, just sat and put his arm around Simmons, sitting with him until he was ready to go in.

 

A week went by. Then two. No word from Carolina.

  
Grif almost had a heart attack when he went into Simmons room one morning, sometime later, only to find his bed empty. He'd slept (guiltily well) in his own bed the previous night, at Simmons' insistence, claiming that Grif's snoring was keeping him up. But now, racing down the hall in a panic, Grif wished he'd just told him to deal with it and stayed anyway.

He found him halfway out to the deck, a blanket around his thin shoulders, shaking from head to toe, clinging to the wall. The redhead burst into tears when he saw him.

“I- I want to go outside.” Simmons rasped, “I just want to... I can't stand being in there anymore.”

“It's raining...” Grif protested lamely.

 _“I don't care!”_ Simmons sobbed, “I want to go outside...”

Grif gathered him up in his arms, trying not to think about how fragile he felt, how tired he seemed, how much it made his stomach sink, “Okay... to the door okay? We'll sit there?”

Simmons nodded weakly.

More than once, the cyborg's legs almost buckled beneath him, Grif all but carried him to the door. When they got there, Grif sat down, carefully cracking the sliding glass open enough that the fresh breeze and smell of rain could get in, and then he eased Simmons down to sit across his lap, head resting on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry...” Simmons whispered after a while, “I'm being such a pain in the ass. This must be so gross...”

“It's not,” Grif answered, and for once it was true, “I don't mind sitting here. I just... want you to be okay...”

Simmons nodded weakly against him.

They sat in silence for several more minutes, the stillness broken by Simmons reaching out, slowly and shaky, with his human arm, to the crack in the door, holding it as steady as he could to feel the few drops that snuck in hit his hand.

“I love you...” the redhead all but whispered.

Grif choked back a sudden surge of emotions, “...I love you too.”

 

Simmons was dying.

Grif knew.

He didn't need to be told.

 

Simmons had been unconscious for several days now. Nothing seemed able to wake him. Dr. Gray didn't have any answers, neither did Sarge. Systems flickered off and then struggled to turn back on, most only managing to do so thanks to direct interference from the aforementioned two.

There was nothing left... No more parts here on the moon that would work. Even the supplies that their former lieutenants on Chorus had brought were all but gone. Just a matter of time now.

This was it.

He'd tried, tried really hard to stay positive. To believe that Carolina would come back with some miracle. In the end though...

Now, he could only sit by Simmons' bedside, just waiting, he couldn't even cry, though lord knew he wanted to, he just felt so empty inside. Resigned. Foolish. Stupid... Guilty.

He tried talking, some part of him wondered if Simmons could hear him, even asleep like this... He hoped so. On the other hand, maybe it was best if he couldn't? Wouldn't it be better this way? To fall asleep and not have to suffer through to the end?

  
More days. No change. Vitals that were barely a blip and Brain activity that Gray couldn't make sense of, flickering and fleeting. Probably the only reason they hadn't 'pulled the plug' was for his sake... He was being so selfish... but he just couldn't do it...

  
Life though is weird. Grif knew one thing of it, it never did what you wanted. When you were hoping it would give you a break, it shit all over your life, when you'd resigned yourself to what was going to be the single worst moment of your life, it dangled hope in front of you like food to a starving dog, hoping you'd dance.

 

Carolina Came back.

  
She came back with all the suddenness of a hurricane, one moment she was still MIA and then the next she was kicking the doors open and marching down the hall, a gaggle of people in her wake, held up at gunpoint by Locus at the rear.

Two men, one woman, and one other person, so beaten and bloody Grif could only guess at what they might identify as. Kicking and screaming, she'd been true to her word.

  
But.... But, was it even enough? He wanted to hope... He really really did... Wanted to believe that it wasn't too late, that Simmons would be safe, that the person who woke up would still be the same, that he wouldn't suffer for the rest of his life, that it was even fair to force him to keep living... He wanted to...

As they chased him out of the room, as Carolina bellowed for the Blues to get the equipment she'd brought out of the ship, as Sarge and Gray stared down these new 'recruits' with the intensity of a couple of parent hawks, as they rushed Simmons away down the hall to surgery... He wanted to hope.

But...

All he felt right now, was numb, his brain so busy that it had all just kind of faded away into static. So, he just wandered the halls aimlessly until he found himself on the porch. He walked out, found a chair, sat down.

  
And waited.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> One of the late ones but I hope it was worth the wait! I hope it broke your hearts, put them back together, and broke them again!  
> This was actually one of the first prompts I started working on but it got delayed because of my trip, I finished it up during my 2 hour delay at the airport! 8D
> 
> All these prompts, as well as my other work, can all be seen on my tumblr if you want to stop by! http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> As always let me know what you guys thought and if there are any major mistakes that I need to fix or things I need to tag! See you next time! Much love! ~ CC


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